


We're All Okay (So Just Hold Me Tight)

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [13]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Bombs, Bruises, Concussions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt Spike, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Bomb Explosion, Injury Recovery, Other, Protective Ed, Protective Greg, Protective Sam, Spike Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let’s get you to bed,” Ed said as he side stepped his two lovers and walked into the bedroom, grabbing the edge of the sheets and pulling them back. Sam helped Spike pull off his shirt, frowning at the bruising down by his hip. The blonde was still clenching his jaw when Spike started to unbutton his jeans, and the tightness in Sam’s face only tensed more when the bruising trailed down the brunette’s thigh.<br/>“Hey,” Spike slurred, his gaze cloudy but focused just enough to reassure Sam and Ed—who was watching from across the room, “I got out, I’m fine.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're All Okay (So Just Hold Me Tight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siennavie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy. :) Have a great day!
> 
> A/N: I do not own Flashpoint nor the characters nor do I make a profit. Please don't repost anywhere, as it's still my writing.

The sheer amount of worry and concern in the air was enough to make Spike feel like he was thousands of feet in the air atop some remote mountain. Or maybe it was the concussion. That’s probably why the lights of Greg’s house seemed to be trying to burn out his eyes, and the sound of the door closing behind him grated on his nerves.

Sam’s hand was on his back, guiding him towards the bedroom, and the only reason Spike was on his own two feet was because he’d told Ed that being carried like some blushing bride had made his stomach curl into itself even more. Greg sped up a bit from where he was locking the door and kissed the concussed man on the cheek before walking into the kitchen.

Spike watched with a foggy look in his eyes as the familiar frame of his lover disappeared behind the door of the refrigerator, and Sam pressed a little more insistently on the bomb tech’s back.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Ed said as he side stepped his two lovers and walked into the bedroom, grabbing the edge of the sheets and pulling them back. Sam helped Spike pull off his shirt, frowning at the bruising down by his hip. The blonde was still clenching his jaw when Spike started to unbutton his jeans, and the tightness in Sam’s face only tensed more when the bruising trailed down the brunette’s thigh.

“Hey,” Spike slurred, his gaze cloudy but focused just enough to reassure Sam and Ed—who was watching from across the room, “I got out, I’m fine.”

“You’ve got a concussion, Spike,” Greg said quietly as he walked in with a couple water bottles balanced in his grasp. Sam herding Spike into the bed, shucking his own pants and shirt, and kneeled next to him as the mattress curved in under his weight. Expression still pained, Sam leaned down and, as soft as possible, pressed kisses to the huge bruise that spanned from Spike’s hipbone to his kneecap. It looked like a blob of ink on the pale skin, some terrible mix of red and black and white, that none of the men in the room ever wanted to see on their significant others’ skins.

The bomb tech ran a hand over the back of Sam’s neck, playing with the soft strands of his hair, and knocked his knee lightly into the sniper’s side. The blonde pulled away, leaving one last kiss, and grabbed a water bottle off the table before opening it and handing it to Spike.

“I could have done that myself,” Spike said, but his tongue refused to cooperate with his mind and vocal cords. Sam smiled, taking the bottle from the brunette when he was done, and let Spike curl up against him as the younger man wished. His leg was pinned between Spike’s slim thighs, and Sam carefully placed a hand on the genius’ ribs—a good distance away from the discolored skin.

Ed and Greg were watching from near the foot of the bed, their movements to take off their clothing slow as they simply observed. They gave their two lovers their distance, letting Sam’s hands slowly rub circles over Spike’s torso as he reassured himself.

They had all been shaken by the day’s events, but none so much as Sam—who had seen the bomb explode as Spike was racing towards the perimeter, having found out it was on a remote trigger, and the shockwave threw him into the side of a nearby police cruiser. Greg had been in the truck, on the phone with the bomber, and Ed had been with Jules and Raf helping with the evacuation. It was Sam that was the first to check Spike’s pulse, see the dazed look in his eyes and the blood leaking from his mouth.

But eventually, the two older lovers finished undressing and crawled into bed with their two dashing darlings. Greg grabbed his phone from the nightstand and set an alarm for in two hours. He rolled onto his side, pressing his back against Spike and felt the bomb tech’s foot lightly trace the back of his calf. He heard the bed groan under their weight as Ed dropped onto the side by Sam, and all the men in the bed shuffled until they clicked together like a solved enigma.

Sam felt Spike’s thighs tighten around his leg, and a slim-but-muscular arm slid across his chest in, he guessed, search of Ed. Another arm fell over the blonde’s chest, and he cracked an eye open to see Spike’s hand resting lightly on Ed’s upper arm and the bald sniper’s hand curled in Spike’s hair from where the bomb tech was resting his head near the crook of Sam’s neck.

“We have to wake him up in two hours, right?” Sam whispered, knowing that no one was asleep yet, and craning his head to press a kiss to Ed’s head. He tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to never leave the bed and never face the world—just stay here with Spike safely in their arms, but he settled for burning the image into his mind.

“I set an alarm,” Greg yawned, pressing the line of his back more inflexibly into Spike’s.

“Good,” Ed muttered, curling his free arm under his head as a make-shift pillow.

Sam could feel, with Spike’s ribcage pressed so tight to his side, every breath of the bomb tech—and he noticed when it started slipping into the familiar arrangement for sleep. So, after feeling the rise and fall of the brunette’s chest until his worries melted off his bones, Sam let his eyes close. He made sure he had his hand high enough up Spike’s body that it wouldn’t slip and hit his bruise, and the warmth under his fingers and on either side of his thigh made his muscles loosen.

Ed did the same from where he was watching the ceiling—listening for the snuffle of Spike’s breath that always followed him into sleep and announced his departure from the land of the awake and aware. He heard Sam’s full body exhale, too, and assumed the younger man was finally going to allow sleep to overtake him. Hazarding a look over, Ed saw that Greg’s shoulders and legs were limp—like they only where when he was asleep because there was always a little tautness in the negotiator’s body when he was conscious, even if Greg didn’t realize it.

Happy with his observations, Ed let his eyes blissfully slip shut and pressed himself just a little tighter into Sam’s side.

His family was together and safe. That’s all the sniper could ask for.


End file.
